


China Doll and the Thousand-Faced Moon.

by lilmissmaya



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sick Fic, more as they come up - Freeform, some blood, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmissmaya/pseuds/lilmissmaya
Summary: snufkin is not good at understanding or expressing his feelings. after a mutual misunderstanding with moomin, he goes off for his winter travels and catches a fever.problem is with being alone in the woods and sick, there are things that might thing you're prey.





	1. Chapter 1

They left on awkward terms like they often did in the fall.

There was always a reluctance on both their parts. To go, to stay. A day, a week longer. But this time there were mumbled goodbyes, looking anywhere but each other. There was a tension in the air between them, enough that those around them noticed. But there was always something between them. 

And that tension weighed heavily on snufkin as he walked over the mountains and away from Moominvalley. Don’t think about what happened, think about the weather. The snow might start falling heavier and he should look for a place with a good supply of firewood. Think about supper, where to fish. Maybe he would follow the beaches this year and find someplace warm and sunny. 

And for a while, he managed not to think about it. Winter hadn’t touched these parts yet, the leaves just starting to turn. It was full of bird song and he hadn’t seen another person in ages. 

And yet… under his breastbone, a knot. An ache. Almost like… loneliness? That was impossible, he liked being alone. He needed his solitude. But there it was, refusing to go away. No, he must be coming down with something. 

A wave of dizziness hit him, he grabbed onto a tree to keep from stumbling. His head throbbed behind his eyes, sharp and stabbing. He really was coming down with something. See, he told himself, he was just sick. Not lonely. Coming down with the flu, that’s all. He’d dig up some coneflower root, find some willowbark, go to bed early and he’d be fine in the morning. He would not think about moomin and how badly he wanted to-

He wasn’t any better by morning. He ached, he froze. Head spinning, he still took his tent down and carried on. Maybe he could walk it off. (why was that knot in his chest worse?)

things kept flickering in and out at the edges of his vision. It felt like something was following him…

“Moomin?” he swore he saw something duck behind a tree. “Did you follow me?” it was ridiculous, it’d been weeks since he left the valley, but-the thought that moomin was there gave him a selfish relief. 

But no, nothing. He groaned quietly, rubbing his face. He felt awful, maybe he should find a place to- his foot hit something soft.

His stomach lurched and turned as he took in what he’d stumbled on to. A massacre, not the result of hunting for necessity, but murder. All around the clearing, bits of- the stench hit him and he emptied his stomach behind a tree. 

He fled, running away from it, until the adrenaline faded and he could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Panic wasn’t- he didn’t panic. This fever was throwing him off. He needed to set up his tent, make a little fire. A little food, nothing fancy. 

That feeling of being followed hadn’t gone away. 

It surprised him how much he had hoped for that one moment it was moomin. Moomin and him… well..

It had started when moomin thought snufkin was asleep. Just, gentle brushing his hair, softly, sweetly. Snufkin was a light sleeper at best, but- he hadn’t stopped him. Pretended to be asleep and let it happen. Then touching his face, cupping his cheek. Sweet things, comforting things. Soft words, gentle kisses and he drank it all in. he wanted it, he wanted it so much, but… he didn’t know how to ask for it. He didn’t have the words. And then he’d have to admit he was pretending to sleep, that seemed like a nasty trick. And admitting that… he needed someone. He wasn’t the aloof loner he acted like, that he needed comfort and affection- he couldn’t admit it to himself how much he wanted it, much less to anyone else. 

And… moomin was going to marry snorkmaiden one day, wasn’t he? She certainly acted like it was inevitable, most people agreed with it. When they were getting married, the house they’d have, the children. He wasn’t jealous, he wouldn’t make anyone a good spouse. It was just the way things were- and that knot hurt every time he thought about it. Moomin with snorkmaiden. Snufkin… just passing through. No more little adventures, sleeping together on the creekbank. Expeditions for herbs and fruit-

He made himself stop thinking about it, rubbing his chest to ease the knot. Made himself eat some thin porridge to warm himself up and settle his stomach. Moomin- oh moomin would be warm- he stopped himself. He was feeling miserable and sorry for himself, and moomin would fuss on him. That’s all. He wanted the fussing. It was for selfish reasons, and he couldn’t make a relationship work that was one sided. 

He curled up by the banked fire, wrapped up in his sleeping bag. He was cold down to the bone, the fire couldn’t touch it. If he couldn’t sleep this off- he might have to find a doctor. 

His dreams were awful, fevered things. Black feathers, black fur. Teeth, the glint of firelight on eyes, eye gleams where they shouldn’t be. The red-green stink of old blood and rot. The dreamed blurred into half-wakefulness, eye gleams he knew didn’t belong to any animals he knew, shadows moving in the moonlight. 

He somehow pulled himself out of his bedroll, packed up his tent with stiff, painful hands. He needed to find a town, one with a doctor. 

It was much like walking underwater, blurry and slow. He tried to remember the lay of the land, where the path might lead him. If he was at the moominhouse, momma would have tucked him into bed with a hot brick or two, feed him soup and tea until he sloshed. Moomin would be- he stopped to rub his face, to make the ground stop rocking back and forth. He loved them- but if he tied himself to anyone, how could he truly be free? That bond of family was bad enough- there was a loud ringing in his ears, a rush of hot and cold- and then nothing at all. 

Moomin was rubbing his back, patting his shoulder. Whispering soft, loving things in his ear- oh he loved it, wanted it. Drank it all in. 

“Snufkin-” moomin’s voice was urgent now. “You need to get up. It’ll be dark soon.”

Get up? But he was- he was good here. Comfortable. He could sleep here- but moomin was shaking his shoulder. 

“You have to get up, you can’t be sleeping out in the open all night. It’s not safe.”

Moomin wasn’t here, this was the fever cooking his brain. And he was slowly coming to wakefulness, of a sort. Aware of how thirsty he was, that he hurt from lying on the hard ground. The sun was low in the west. It was a struggle getting to his feet. 

Water. He needed water.

He found a stream and dunked his head into it, trying to clear his head long enough to make a campfire. He was too tired to make food after setting up his tent and making the fire. He should eat, he hadn’t eaten since the night before- but it was easier to just drink water until his belly stopped complaining. He was so thirsty. 

He kept… seeing things moving in the trees. Deer, he told himself. Bears, porcupines. Except-

It moved too much like a person, on two legs. The firelight flicked on its shape every so often, giving him glimpses of black hide, black fur- He couldn’t tell if it was there or if he was hallucinating- things were… dreamy. All the same, he kept an eye on it… just in case. Being sick meant the strange things that might lurk out here might think he was prey. 

Things with moomin had fallen apart one afternoon. Laying in the cool grass, cicadas buzzing in the trees, it was a drowsy afternoon. Snufkin half-dozed, laying on his pack. Moomin’s paw rested on his chest, a comforting weight just over the v of his half opened shirt. Slowly the paw drifted downward, across his belly to the waistband of his pants. No one had ever touched him there, just the gentle stroke was- intimate, arousing, shocking- he gasped, twitching away in surprise.

Moomin jerked away, turning pink under his fur before running off. Snufkin- he was surprised, not upset, but he didn’t know how to tell moomin that. Because...he didn’t know what he wanted. Didn’t know how to tell moomin it was okay, and okay to do it again. Just… it felt bad to not have him there. That knot in his chest was a near-physical pain.

So they avoided each other’s gaze and stayed an arm’s reach apart. Unwilling to stay too far away, unsure to try again. 

The fever wasn’t much better, but he needed firewood and to forage for food. He found more coneflower and dug up the roots. If he crushed and chewed on them, it might help. Willow bark, if he could find some it might bring down the fever. He needed his strength to get down to a town. 

That thing… was following him.

It lurked on the edges of his vision, melting into the shadows when he tried to get a better look. Long, skinny limbs. Teeth. He coughed into his sleeve and tried not to look so sick. It was waiting for dark, for him to be too weak to run or fight.

Fuck it.

The coneflower root made his mouth numb as he chewed on it, cutting through the feverish haze. No willowbark, he was too high up in the mountains. But he managed a few bites of acorn porridge again, making himself eat what he could.

He huddled by the fire, arms wrapped around his knees and knife in hand. He hoped that thing in the woods was just delirium from the fever, from lack of sleep. Because if it came down to it… he wasn’t sure he could fight it off. 

It made its move right before dawn. He was half dozing, the fire down to embers when-a noise? The stench? -woke him up right before something burning and cold crashed into him. It clawed at his face and neck, tired to bite and he jabbed upwards into it with his knife. It hit home, with a crack as it broke through its shell-like hide and the thing screamed. It pierced through his pounding skull, but he couldn’t stop, he kicked at it to get it off. Somehow he got to his feet and ran. 

The horizon was just barely turning grey with dawn. He crashed and tripped through the underbrush and pine boughs, almost falling over the edge of a cliff- only to be tackled by the thing again. There was a tearing feeling in his side, adrenaline dulling any pain. He fought without thinking, hitting, kicking- he got his feet between it and him and pushed-

And it screamed again as it fell, crashing onto rocks and brush as it tumbled down. A final crash and…. Silence. 

Snufkin laid there on the ground for what felt like hours, as the sky slowly lightened. He was numb. Slowly, carefully he picked himself up. His side hurt where its claw caught him, in a distant way. He could see blood seeping down his side, black in the dawn light. 

This… wasn’t good. 

He couldn’t feel much. Shock? Like his body wasn’t his own. He pressed his arm against the wound to slow the bleeding, tottered back to camp. He needed to… He needed to…He sank down to the ground, face pressed into damp pine needles. He hoped moomin would forgive him for not coming home. 

And then…

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Snufkin was late.

It was a miserable spring anyway, wet and cold. Mamma’s garden was still asleep, only the hardiest of flowers daring to try and unfurl their leaves. Moomin sulked and moped, hanging around the bridge, waiting for him to come. 

He… would be back, right? He always did, sooner or later. Even if he had crossed a line with snufkin last summer, but… oh but he would come back, right?  
He fretted and paced and waited. Days became weeks. 

And then finally, finally when the sun started to warm up the ground, and the first spring flowers finally opened, snufkin’s new spring song floated on the wind into the valley. 

Moomin rushed to meet him. His heart felt like it might burst out of him- snufkin was here!

He stopped himself before he could tackled him into a hug. His friend looked pale under his tan, much thinner and more tired than he remembered. A sort of fragility that made him… almost pretty. 

“Moomin.” he smiled, putting his harmonica away in his pocket. “Sorry I’m late.”

He set up his tent in the usual spot. He moved slowly and rested often, as he and moomin kept each other at arm’s length. Never too close, never too far away. Never touching, as much as each other would have wanted to. 

“What happened out there?” moomin asked as they laid under the cool shade of a willow tree. He wanted so badly to smooth the shaggy hair out of snufkin’s face, to wrap his arms around him. To make sure he was warm and comfortable, let him sleep pillowed against something soft. He looked so tired, deep purple smudges under his eyes. “You were late.”

“Oh…” he tried to sound casual. “Caught a bit of flu, had to stay in town for a while. Did you know they have a clock tower with little figures that come out every hour?” he talked with his usual flare, about the town, avoiding the subject of being sick, or why he had to stay in town so long he was late. 

It was the same if anyone asked him. He’d change the subject, tell some fantastic story that may or may not be true. Now moomin may not have been the brightest spark, but he knew something was up. He could see snufkin’s camp from his room, could see him sitting by his campfire all night rather than sleeping. Noticed him half dozing during the day when he tried to fish. He didn’t eat too much at family supper either, eating a few bites and then tiredly pushing the food around his plate. Once he nodded off over his soup, he’d never done that before. 

Moomin walked up to his tent one afternoon, the first summer cherries in a basket in his paws. The flaps of his tent were open, snufkin in his shirtsleeves asleep inside. Moomin heard… crying? Soft sobs, moans. Snufkin twitched and curled around himself, trapped in a nightmare. 

“Snufkin?” moomin called softly. He… should he wake him up? He hesitated for a moment, then reached over, rubbing snufkin’s back. “Sh… there… shh…”

Snufkin jerked awake and upright, knife in hand. Eyes wide, frightened, his breath coming in great gasps. Moomin jumped back, fur puffing in surprise.

“Snufkin?”

“Moomin?” he held tight for a moment before slumping down, setting the knife on the tent floor. “Sorry.”

“You were crying, I’m sorry…” he wanted to reach for him again, soothe away the bad dream like his own mother would when he was small. 

“No, I’m sorry. I had a bad dream, thank you for waking me up.” he rubbed his face, puffy from lack of sleep. “What’s up moomintroll?”

“Are you sleeping at all?” he wasn’t going to change the subject this time. “You look exhausted.”

“Not much.” he admitted. “Just bits here and there. I can’t fall back after.. You know.”

“You need rest or you’ll get sick.” he already looked sick enough. 

“I know, I know. I want to sleep, I just… can’t.”

“Come with me.” he offered his paw, snufkin just stared at it. “I’ll make you sweet milk and you can sleep in my bed.”

“Moomin, I-”

“AND you’re going to eat a real meal after you sleep. Come on.” he took snufkin’s hand, pulled him to his feet. 

He managed to get him into the house, heated up milk and sweetened it with honey and cinnamon. It was his momma’s favorite nightmare cure, sure to put anyone back to sleep. Snufkin sat quietly, half awake until moomin put the warm mug in his hands. “You don’t have to do this-”

“Drink it while it’s hot.” he started to reach out to touch his face, cup his cheek… then pulled back. He… looked like he wanted to say something, snufkin did. But he shook his head and drank his hot drink.

“Now.” moomin took his hand once he had finished it, more confident with this part. “Bed.”

Snufkin eyed the bed, looking unsure about this. But the desire to sleep overrode his fear of the nightmares, letting himself be tucked in. It was soft and warm, the sweet milk soothing. It was… safe.

“Moomin?” his heart jumped. “Don’t… go yet.”

“No, I’ll stay.” snufkin closed his eyes, his breathing going slow and deep in moments. 

Soup. soup would be warm and filling for snufkin, easy to eat. Was this how his mother felt about pappa? Thinking about ways to take care of the other? He’d ask her for grandmother’s book to read, see if there were any good ideas there for snufkin’s nightmares.

He should ask what they were about. It must have been bad, for him to sleep with a knife.


	3. Chapter 3

Snufkin woke up screaming. 

He sat up too quickly, hand on the knife he slept with to find… nothing. Again. The screams died into gasping sobs and he curled up onto himself. The old wound, the one that stubbornly refused to heal, ached sharply with the movement. Moomin, in the dream he’d been- by that thing- it wouldn’t leave his mind’s eye, over and over, if he closed his eyes he could see it-

So much for sleeping. But he was too tired to get up and go do something. Today had been long, cherries and blackberries being made into jam and juice, everyone helping. 

His stomach growled, reminding him he’d skipped supper in favor of trying to rest. He could make something, but that meant getting tinder for the fire and getting that started- cutting up vegetables or… it seemed so much work and he felt like a used rag. He could have eaten supper with the family, that would have been the smartest, but his nerves were shot, and any more chatter, chatter, chatter… he wished he had liquor of some sort. It didn’t make for great sleep, but at least it took the edges off of everything. It’d certainly make the pain in his side more bearable. 

He slumped back into his bedroll, tears still leaking out. He could… go to the house, curl up with moomin in his big soft bed. He could sleep there, moomin kept the nightmares away that one night. But how to ask? He wasn’t some small child wanting to sleep with the parents- not that he’d ever had someone to comfort him when he had bad dreams. He’d… had no one. Not until moomin came into his life, there had never been anyone to comfort him.

Another long night, laying awake, he thought with resignation. At least until he gave up and dragged himself out to do something. Coffee maybe, drink enough and he’d feel like a person again. Somewhat a person. 

“Snufkin?” moomin appeared from around the edge of the open tent-flap. “I brought you some supper.”

“I had supper.” he lied as he pushed himself upright. His friend gave him a look he’d inherited from his mother. One that said he knew that he was fibbing “I…”

“Your campfire is cold.” he settled in with him, pushing towards him a covered dish, then started pulling things out of his bag. Napkins, spoons, bread, butter. A smaller covered dish that smelled sweet.

“Dumplings in beef stew and cobbler with cream.” he smiled and set it up. It smelled wonderful and his stomach growled again. “Eat, eat.”

He ate it slowly under moomin’s watchful eye. “This is good.”

“I made it.” moomin said proudly. “Just for you.”

It was kind, so kind and the tears welled back up. 

“Are you okay? Snufkin?”

“Yes, I’m just tired.” he rubbed his eyes, tried to eat more. He was hungry, but eating food was an effort, taking more energy than he had. 

“Did you have another bad dream?” he sounded concerned, fiddling with his tail. He just nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” what to say, that he dreamed about a Horrible Thing from the woods ripping moomin limb from- he started shaking, fear rising, unable to stop thinking about it-

“Snufkin!” moomin’s voice broke through. “Snufkin, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“I think I’m full…” he pushed it away, his stomach roiling. 

“That’s okay. It’ll keep for later. Do you want me to stay?”

“Please. Don’t go.” the worst thing would be being alone with his thoughts. 

“I’ll stay, don’t worry. Here, let’s get your blankets straightened and you tucked in.” he let himself be tucked in again, relaxing as he did it. This time moomin stroked his hair, smoothing it back in long strokes. 

“Thank you moomin…” he mumbled, sinking down into sleep. “You rest too…”

“I will, once you’re asleep.” he looked so sweet when he was asleep. Moomin curled up beside him, holding snufkin’s paw in his own. 

“It’s…” snufkin tried to explain a few days later. He’d given up trying to sleep on his own, not when he could be curled up with moomin and get some actual rest. Between that and some decent meals in him, he finally had some color back in his face. “I can’t take thinking of you being here and worrying about me while I’m gone. But there are…. Things out in the forests, sometimes.”

“Things?” moomin leaned in closer to him. 

“Old things, that never had names. Hungry things.” he rubbed his side, the pain still there. “I ran into one last winter.”

Moomins eyes grew wide, and he had to hold himself back from clutching at snufkin. 

“It keeps…” he gestured at his temple, like a wheel spinning. “Over and over, it won’t let me sleep.”

“Did it hurt you?”

“No.” he lied. Might as well not worry moomin more than needed. “I pushed it over a cliff and got away.” he’d been sure at the time he was going to die there alone. The weeks that followed were a feverish haze in a strange hospital. Pain, nightmares… moomin didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t do much right now, but he could protect moomin from it. 

“I’m gonna eat them before anyone else!” sniff yelled, running out the door.

“Not if I get there first!” Little My chased after him, close on his heels. Neither were looking where they were going, running straight into snufkin. He was coming in just as they ran out, knocking him hard to the ground.

“Snufkin?” moomin heard him yelp in pain and rushed out, found him double over, holding his side. He offered a paw up but snufkin pushed him away. His face had turned a sickly color, a sheen of sweat rising up. 

“Don’t-” he wheezed, wobbly pulling himself up by the railing. “Don’t touch me.”

“What’s wrong?” he tried to reach for him again, heart hurting as his friend avoided his paws and fled to his tent. 

Snufkin just barely got the tent flaps closed before he collapsed to his knees. The pain was making him faint. He took off his shapeless coat and peeled back his shirt, the old wound the thing in the woods left him had reopened, bleeding heavily. Not good.

He blinked back a wave of dizziness, wadding up an old shirt and pressing it against the wound. He needed to...his head spun, he had to hold himself up. No he couldn’t faint now...he had to… did he need to sew it up? He knuckled sweat out of his eyes, before fumbling around in his pack. Needle and thread, don’t faint. If he fainted he’d bleed out.

The blood was soaking through the shirt, he had to hurry. His hands weren’t cooperating, they were shaking. Once, twice, he finally got the needle threaded. The edges of his vision were grey.

He pushed the needle into his skin, panting through the pain. In and out, a knot.

There was a scratching at the tent flap. “Snufkin?” it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“Go away, moomin.” his voice didn’t sound right. In and out, another knot. He had to wipe sweat out of his eyes again before the next stitch. He couldn’t let him see this, see all this blood...

“Are you okay?” he sounded worried. Another stitch and knot, the blood was slowing a little. The lightheadedness was worse, but the pain distant, like he was sewing someone else. Another stitch.

“I… just need to be by myself. For a little while.” that wasn’t convincing. But he couldn’t let moomin see this, it’d upset him too much. He’d be okay, as long as he didn’t faint before it was done. 

“I’ll bring you some supper later.”

He couldn’t respond, everything was focused on one more stitch. One more and it’d be closed up. There was a loud ringing in his ears, drowning out everything else. This was the hardest one, he couldn’t feel his hands. But he managed to knot it, clip the thread. Sink down to his bed roll and… nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark out when he drifted towards awareness. What happened? He tried to roll over, the movement painfully tugging on his side and he remembered. He should get up, apologize for yelling at moomin and reassure him he was fine- a wave of dizziness hit him as he sat up, and he found himself on the bed roll again. He’d… lost alot of blood. 

He tried sitting up again, slower. The world shifted and tilted, but settled into something steady after a few moments. He needed to clean up. He had a bucket of water in the corner, mostly for washing up. It was warm and stale, but he drank deeply before splashing his face. He dampened a clean rag, tried to scrub the drying blood off his skin. 

The blood had soaked into his trousers, puddled on the tent floor, ruined at least two shirts. He could at least get his trousers soaking, maybe he could fade it enough it would just look like mud on the stained fabric. Moomin… had he left food like he said he did? He should eat- he needed to to make up for the blood loss. 

Indeed, there was a towel-wrapped dish outside the tent flap and a jug of juice. Good old moomintroll. He took such good care of him- he sniffed, holding back sudden tears. This blood loss was making him loopy. 

Sandwiches. Good, he could eat that laying down. 

He made sure to check his stitching before laying down. It wasn’t well done, but it was holding. He smeared ointment on it, comfrey and calendula to help it heal. Hopefully heal. 

He curled up on his good side, wrapping himself up tightly before nibbling on a sandwich. Hopefully a little sleep and food and he’d be less loopy, be presentable in public.

He managed to come out of his tent a day later, somewhat steady on his feet. He felt feverish and gray, his side constantly hurting. He moved slowly, carefully to not pull on it. Moomin looked worried, kept reaching for him and- snufkin pulled away. The wrong movement and it’d pull against the wound, brushing up the wrong way- moving too quickly made his vision gray out.

He was tired, so tired. It took so much just to pretend to be okay, it was easier to have moomin lead him around, tell him to eat, tell him when to lay down to rest. Good ol’ moomintroll. 

His wound was tender and hot to the touch. That and the fever…. He tried more ointment, raided moominmamma’s stash of willowbark to bring down the fever. He should just tell him, he knew something was wrong. 

In… another day or two. If it didn’t get better. He’d tell him then. 

Snufkin joined them on another foraging trip, peaches and plums were coming into season and momma needed plenty for jam. He trailed behind, moving slowly and holding his side. 

He stopped, leaning against a fence post to rest. Moomin noticed, and went back for him. 

“Hey… are you okay?” snufkin glanced up, eyes a little glassy and distant. He’d been looking so pale the last few days-

“Yeah.” he said, almost faintly. 

“You don’t look okay.” he put his paws on either side of snufkin’s pale face, any reservations about putting himself in his friend’s space forgotten. “You’re cold!”  
“I am cold.” he murmured, slumping against him. Moomin put his arms around him, half holding him up. “You’re warm. I like it.”

“We can go back.” his paw was in something wet and warm, and he smelled… blood? He glanced down, blood seeping through snufkin’s coat. 

Funny, he should be panicked. He’d been so worried, but this- he scooped snufkin into his arms, he was shockingly light. 

“What are we…” he trailed off, head resting on his friend’s shoulder. 

“I’m taking you back, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” no fight, no protest, just limp in moomin’s arms. This was worse than if he fought against it-

Mamma knew something was wrong when moomin pounded across the porch into the house. She cleared off the table, helping him lay his friend down on it. With sharp scissors, he helped her cut off his coat and blood-sodden shirt. The clumsy stitches had torn loose, the wound was angry and swollen. Not gone bad yet, but-

“Papa! Grab the old sheets from the linen cupboard, would you? And some wine. Moomin, hold pressure on that. Oh sweetheart, what happened to you?”

“The thing from the woods…” he said faintly. “I think I killed it, but it got me… it won’t heal… I was in a hospital…”

“I need to clean it out. Thank you papa. The wine is for him, snufkin, you should drink a little. This is going to hurt a bit.” she put water on to boil, and a smaller pot of water with tweezers and her sharpest embroidery scissors before tearing the sheets into strips. Snufkin blinked as papa held the glass to his lips, but drank it down.

“Sometimes…” she explained, talking more to herself as she remembered her grandmother’s book as she scrubbed her paws, “there can be curses left when a thing dies violently.”

“Like being thrown off a cliff.” he murmured, head spinning from blood loss and the wine. Everything felt very far away. 

“Yes. there might be something inside the wound keeping it from healing. Moomin, dear could you hold him around his chest?” her son nodded, putting his arms under snufkin’s and around him. He laid his head back on moomin’s shoulder, limp and damp as a rag. 

She laid out some of the cloth, placed the freshly boiled tools down on top. Then, carefully, she started working. He hissed, clutching onto moomin. 

She had to go in deep, pappa holding down snufkin’s legs so he wouldn’t kick or twist away. The color left his face, and he panted and moaned, then after a few long moments went limp. She dug in, trimming out any dead and dying flesh, pulling out splinters of bone. She had to find it, a bit of tooth, a tip of claw- what was keeping him from healing?

His breathing grew shallower and shallower and then stopped- she knuckled his breast bone and he gasped. His eyes fluttered open for a moment then back into unconsciousness. She had to hurry. Too long and he’d go into shock and stop breathing again. His pulse was already weak and irregular.

There, her tweezers found something dark and sharp, a tip of claw that had broken off against a rib. Here was the curse. She made sure to get the entire thing out, laying it on the cloth where it sat like a stain.

She washed the wound out, packed it with ointment and bandages. It’d have to heal from the inside out now, slowly. 

“Snufkin, wake up.” she patted his cheek, trying to get him to open his eyes. He moaned, eyes fluttering again. “Let’s put him to bed. He needs rest.”

“Is he going to be okay?” moomin picked him up carefully, cradling him against his chest. 

“He’ll be able to heal up now.” she avoided saying yes or no. he’d hidden this injury for much too long and weaken himself badly. 

They tucked him into bed, tucking warm bricks around him to help stop the shivering. She bathed his face with lavender water, trying to make him as comfortable as possible while her son fretted. 

“Do you want to stay with him?”

“No, well, I… yes, but maybe-”

“Moomin?” snufkin mumbled, starting to come around. “Where are you?”

“Right here!” he clutched his hand, smoothing out his hair with his other paw. “I’m right here.”

“Don’t let go…” he said, drifting away again. “Don’t…”

“I won’t, I’ll stay right here.”

Mamma smiled, leaving them alone. She had to clean up, and snufkin needed rest.


	5. Chapter 5

It was like being at the bottom of a deep well. He could hear things, distantly. Voices, people moving. Sometimes, he could open his eyes, see shapes and shadows. And then he’d sink back into somewhere cold and dark. He couldn’t move, someone would move him, put a cold cloth on his face. Sometimes something sweet would be put to his lips and he’d drink thirstily. The pain would dim for a while after that, and he’d be warm. 

Where was moomin? Sometimes he’d try to call out for him, but it came out as a mumble. Then someone would pat his face and hair, be pulled against something warm. A heartbeat, someone’s steady breathing. Voices, he couldn’t make out what they said.

He drifted in the water of the well, sometimes dreaming. He and moomin were mouse sized, with soft brown ears and long tails. They curled up together in a pile of leaves and pineneedles for the long winter hibernation, tails tangled together. He was regular sized again, had a baby in his arms. It looked like moomin but with ginger fur and teeth like Little My. 

Snufkin’s fever soared. The wound’s infection had spread to his blood, momma said, plus the stress of cleaning it out weakened him. He laid there, still and white as porcelain as moomin bathed his face, talked to him. His pulse was weak, irregular. Every so often he’d mumble and groan, eyelids fluttering. But he wouldn’t wake up. Sometimes he’d get halfway there, asking for moomin. But then he was gone again. 

Momma showed him some new things, she steeped herbs in red wine, to build up his blood she said. How to make the ointment to heal up his wound. The red wine she mixed with cream and honey, helped snufkin drink it when he half woke up. 

In some places they had poppies, when the petals fell off one could milk the green pod and make a syrup that would kill pain and bring sleep. It was hard to get, all they had was alcohol to help with pain. 

“Do you like learning about herbs?” she asked her son.

“I think so. I want to help snufkin get better.” he smoothed out a page of grandmother’s book, then smiled as his momma ruffled the fur between his ears. 

“You’re a good friend, moomin.” he turned pink under his fur. 

“He’s my-... you know, my best friend.”

“Moomin…”

“Yes momma?”

“Do… oh it doesn’t matter, would you like to help me make some soup?” she had been about to ask something, but- snufkin and moomin were still young. They would figure it out sooner or later, she would just have to let them know it would be okay. An unconventional relationship sure, but as long as the boys were happy. That would be all that mattered. 

Gradually, he came closer to the surface. Words, moomin’s voice, momma, Little My. 

“Moomin?” he tried again, his voice hoarse. The room was dim, the curtains pulled closed against the light. Could he sit up? No, he felt like damp paper. 

Moomin appeared from the side, helping him sit up, propping him in place with pillows. His side ached, but distantly. 

“Wha’ happened, moomin?” he rested his face against his friend’s shoulder. He felt… empty. 

“Momma got the thing that was keeping you from healing out of you.” gently, he took snufkin’s hand, stroked the back of it with his thumb. “You ran a fever, and you lost so much blood…”

“M’ sorry moomin.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Wasn’t mad, just surprised. When you were touching m’belly.” he slurred. “No one’s touched me there before. Liked it. Just surprised.”

“Oh snufkin.” his soft nose nuzzled snufkin’s cheek, like velvet. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or tell me you were hurt?”

“Couldn’t. Didn’t know how…” words were getting harder to form, but he needed to tell him. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

“You’re my best friend, silly.” he said mildly. “I like worrying about you. Go back to sleep.”

Snufkin repeated his declaration about not being mad a few more times over the next day or two, never remembering the previous time. Moomin didn’t mind, it just meant he had another reason to give him a quick cuddle before his friend fell asleep again. He liked cuddling him… he liked it better that he didn’t have to wait until snufkin was sound asleep to do it. And snufkin, as far as he could tell, liked it too. He’d just melt, curling up against him. Sure, there might be a moment or two where he stiffened up, pulled away- but if moomin gave him a little bit he’d relax, come back. Like he had to get used to it. Then again… maybe he’d never done this with someone else. Snufkin was a loner, a wanderer. He’d never mentioned much about whoever cared for him growing up, or friends or lovers… maybe he had to take a moment to get used to it was because… he’d never had anyone to cuddle with! It didn’t matter much, moomin would hold him as much as needed, he was happy, delighted to. It felt perfectly right, fitting together like puzzle pieces.


	6. Chapter 6

Snufkin wasn’t strong enough to walk very far, so moomin carried him down to the kitchen. A change of scenery, so snufkin could keep him company while he cooked. 

“You didn’t have to…” he mumbled, red faced. 

“You can use the air.” he pulled a blanket tighter around his shoulders, settling him in at the kitchen table. His fingers lingered on his friend’s face. Already there was more color than before, though his face was still thin and the dark smudges still under his eyes. 

“Moomin? Oh there you are.” moomin snatched his paw away as snorkmaiden came in. 

“Snorkmaiden, hi!” he said awkwardly. It felt weird, her suddenly here. Like he was caught doing something naughty. “I was about to start cooking.”

“You, cook? I didn’t know you could cook.” she hugged him as he stood there stiffly. He could feel snufkin’s eyes on him. “What are you making us?”

“Um…” his gaze slid over to snufkin, who was now staring at the table top. “I was going to try cabbage rolls.”

“Oooh, that sounds good. I’ll help you.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been planning, or what it was supposed to be like. Just him and snufkin, cooking for snufkin like a… a… well he just wanted to cook for him to make him feel better. A special meal for him, just the two of them. 

He made tea for snufkin first, both avoiding looking at the other.

It hurt snufkin more than he’d like to admit. Not that he had any claim on moomin, no reason to feel jealous. (but it hurt in his chest, that knot under his breast bone.) she would make a nice wife, give him many babies, keep a home for moomin, some day. More than- the knot throbbed, and he regretted coming downstairs. With something like this, he’d pack up and leave for a few days, until he could stop feeling- anything like this. bad. He rubbed at his chest, looking for the wine jug. It… wasn’t the best idea. Wasn’t even the smartest. But snorkmaiden was snuggling up to moomin and talking and snufkin wanted to scream at her or burst into tears. Neither was appropriate. So, option three. Drink to numb the feelings. 

Snorkmaiden looked over her shoulder and smiled. His heart dropped to his stomach. 

Moomin’s attention was focused on his cooking, he didn’t see snufkin pour himself a large glass of wine and get back to his seat. 

Papa’s wine was heavy and sweet, it went down easy and warmed his belly. Everything loosened once the alcohol hit his system, even the knot. Why was he so upset? 

Because… his gaze slipped over to where they were cooking, side by side. 

Because… he wanted to be… where she was. Not standing by him at the stove, but that position, the girlfriend, the engaged. Beloved. 

He’d be a terrible spouse. And he knew it, that was the awful part. 

He drained the glass, considering more. No, one was enough for now. It was to take the edges off of things, not obliterate them. So he could be his cheerful self for everyone, so no one would worry anymore. Ol’snufkin was a loner after all, who needed nothing and no one. And certainly wasn’t pining like a romance novel heroine. 

There was a gentle touch on his shoulder, moomin was holding a dish.  
“It’ll take them a while to bake, I made you a snack.” he glanced at the wine glass and said nothing, settling down next to his friend. The thickened tomato sauce over a piece of soft bread, simple and warm.  
“Are you okay? You look like you were thinking deep thoughts.”  
“Us. I was thinking about us.” he admitted.   
“Anything good?” he put his paw on snufkin’s hand, pulling away quickly when snorkmaiden sat down with them.  
“Just the future.”  
“Me too!” snorkmaiden hugged moomin’s arm. “I have our cottage alll planned out!” 

Snufkin flinched, putting his bread down with only one bite taken out. She went on and on about paint color and curtains and the big wardrobe she’d have, his stomach twisting in knots. He must be getting sick again, to react like this. To be this upset about something he’d always know would happen. 

“Snufkin, are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well. I’ll go back to bed.” he said softly. 

“I’ll help. It’s alot of stairs.” 

“No, I… just need to be by myself.” he ignored moomin’s protest as he limped to the stairs, using furniture and walls to help steady himself. The wine hadn’t helped him feel less weak. 

He just couldn’t… it was impossible for them to be a couple, forever and all that. Moomin cared but not like that. 

Was this what it felt like to be in love? It hurt worse than nearly dying. He’d get over it sooner or later, right?

...right?

He took the stairs slowly, legs feeling like water under him. He wasn’t going to ask for help, he could do this- his vision swam and everything got very far away for a moment- and moomin caught him.

“Snufkin?” it took a moment before things steadied, he could find his voice.

“‘M fine.” he still clung to moomin, panting into his shoulder.

“Come on, ol’silly thing.” he lifted him easily, carrying him up the rest of the stairs. “You should ask for help when you need it.”

“Moomin-” he started, as he was set down on the bed. “Maybe you should stay with snorkmaiden tonight. or I can go to a guest room…”

“What? No, your nightmares-”

“They should be better, right? Now that the curse is off.” he just had to have some distance, and he’d stop feeling like this, maybe. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” he took snufkin’s face in his paws, nuzzled his cheek. “You rest, I’ll bring up supper when it’s ready.”

He brought a tray up with their plates, relieved in a way. Just the two of them as he had planned. Snufkin looked tired or sick- maybe helping him down stairs had been too much activity. And snufkin never drank before dinner…

It was snorkmaiden, of course! All that talk of cottages and marriage. 

He couldn’t help it, starting to giggle as he set out the plates for them.

“Moomin?”

“You’re jealous!” he covered his mouth as the laughter burbled out. “Oh thank the booble, you’re jealous! I thought you were getting sick again.”

“I’m not jealous.” he grumbled, looking down at his food. “I just…”

“Don’t like her hanging on me?”

“...yes.”

“You’re jealous.” he smiled, realizing something. “Snufkin, I think I’m in love with you.”

“What?” he turned red, pulling away. “You can’t be- I’m not-”

“And you’re jealous of snorkmaiden.”

“She… she’d make a better wife.”

“I don’t want a wife.” he smiled. “You silly thing, you love me too.”

“I…it hurts when you aren’t with me.” he admitted. “And it’s so much better when you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Now eat. And we’ll figure things out as they come.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I write one kind of fic. but man do I love writing sick fic. let me know what you all think, you're going to be in for a ride!


End file.
